


outlast

by shalash



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Minor Character(s), i have a lot of feelings about the heralds and they're all underappreciated af, listen the rest of the heralds do not have character tags i am not happy about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29924256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalash/pseuds/shalash
Summary: At times, she liked to pretend she was still mortal. It wasn't a trick the other nine had ever been very good at. But to Ash, it was easy. Act like a thief, like a whore, like an actress. Mostly like an actress. Stay away from sharp rocks and long drops and smile when someone makes a joke, like you haven't heard it before from a dozen different mouths long dead. Kiss men and the occasional woman and join teams that needed an assassin. Act afraid when you were supposed to, and happy when something went your way. That bit was the hardest.a series of short character studies on the heralds.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	1. jes

**Author's Note:**

> remember when i used to write short oneshots like this but they were all happy and hopeful? surprise, bitch. i'm back and now i do angst.
> 
> Anyway, the Heralds are very underrated characters and I have a lot (A Lot) of thoughts about them. This is basically just a short series of character studies, one from the perspective of each of them. This one is actually my least favorite that I've written so far (I've done Nale, Vedel and Ash too), but I wanted to do them in the order the Vorin church puts them in! I plan to update once every five days until I've posted all ten, and then I might do some other stuff with Ash and Taln specifically. Each chapter here will probably be between 1 and 2k?
> 
> (I'm aware some of the cosmere mechanics I put in here, like it taking longer for a cognitive shadow to become drunk, aren't canon btw. they're just things that I wanted to add if I'm being totally honest).
> 
> Trigger warnings for depression, alcoholism, suicidal tendencies, and anything else that goes with the general mental state of the Heralds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i used to write short oneshots like this but they were all happy and hopeful? surprise, bitch. i'm back and now i do angst.
> 
> Anyway, the Heralds are very underrated characters and I have a lot (A Lot) of thoughts about them. This is basically just a short series of character studies, one from the perspective of each of them. This one is actually my least favorite that I've written so far (I've done Nale, Vedel and Ash too), but I wanted to do them in the order the Vorin church puts them in! I plan to update once every five days until I've posted all ten, and then I might do some other stuff with Ash and Taln specifically. Each chapter here will probably be between 1 and 2k?
> 
> (I'm aware some of the cosmere mechanics I put in here, like it taking longer for a cognitive shadow to become drunk, aren't canon btw. they're just things that I wanted to add if I'm being totally honest).
> 
> Trigger warnings for depression, alcoholism, suicidal tendencies, and anything else that goes with the general mental state of the Heralds.

**_I — jezrien_ **

The bottom of a bottle was rather convincingly not beautiful. Jezrien thought he must be missing something. So he drank another. Again. And again.  _ And again _ .

Kholinar was a deceptive city. From the outside, it was the home of a family of warlords, with their imposing laws and strict regulations, people bustling and jostling in the street and a wealth of superiority from it's lighteyes.

_ He had been a darkeyed king once- _

But on the inside, it festered an abhorrent helpless hope. The beggar's feast, for example. No other murderous warlord who had taken back his country through gallons and gallons of blood would have thought of that one.

_ He hadn't thought of that one- _

Giving a couple of beggars the same feast the nobles had gotten? What better way was there to fester loyalty in a city? The people loved the Kholins almost enough to forget what they had done only a few decades ago.

A few decades was a lifetime to these people.

Jezrien hadn't been a very good king. It wasn't a realisation he had come to when he still held the title, but rather one he had arrived at much, much later. His people hadn't loved him, not the way they loved the king of the Reshi Isles or even tolerated the monarch of Jah Keved. They had suffered him and his policy and his  _ legacy _ .

_ Don't think about Ash don't think about Ash don't think about how you failed her- _

He had had good intentions, but all leaders did. It was more about whether you kept good to them, whether you watched the morality of those actions as they shifted you towards the end goal. Journey before destination, the Radiants said. 

Where had the Radiants gone? They couldn't have betrayed Roshar too. No, no, no. Jezrien was delusional. That was the only explanation for it.

And so he drank. 

It took more than the regular amount of alcohol to get himself drunk, for some reason, and that wasn't just the fact that he had a rather impressively built-upon tolerance. Something about being a Cognitive Shadow, he assumed. Though Chana had never had much trouble with it.

_ You failed her too- _

With him, Jezrien carried a bottle of Horneater White. Whether he was in Shinovar or Azimir or on the palace steps in Alethkar, he carried it, like it was a child's favorite toy, loved so much the life and the stitches had been squeezed out of it. 

_ And yet it persists. Just like you. Just like them- _

He took a swig from it every five minutes or so. Always, and he didn't need sleep, technically, so it was an always rather than a half or a third of the time. Except when his blood alcohol levels got too much even for him and he passed out, snoring drunk wherever it was he had been standing. 

_ He had used to be a King how had he gotten like this- _

That wasn't the worst of it. In fact, it was some of the best of it, really. Being asleep meant he didn't have to consider things. Being drunk meant that too, some of the time. It was best when he didn't think about things, because all he thought about was the past. His wife used to tell him not to dwell on the past, and to live in the present instead. So he didn't think about it, and he didn't think about her or Ashyn or Shalash or Taln or Braize or-

He did, though. He thought about it every waking moment. 

Focusing on the present would be much easier to do if the present had any value, any use. But it didn't, at least not to him. He wasn't made for this time, his importance had expired years ago. There was nothing special, nothing with meaning good nor bad for him here. His meaning had been Braize. And Braize had broken him.

Sometimes, Jezrien travelled. When he became sober enough to pick himself out of whatever alley he had been slumped in and he hit a sudden break in his delirium—but that wasn't as often, nowadays—he'd get up and he'd go to Yulay or Rira or somewhere where the sun beat down a little less harshly. Shinovar, perhaps. Except he didn't go to Shinovar anymore. They had his blade. The less reminders about the past that he suffered, the better.

_ Taln don't think about Taln you left him you left him to suffer- _

They looked at him strangely in the Azish Empire—he didn't look like it's citizens—but it was alright there. As long as he could tuck his bottle away from the prying eyes and avoid the forms that they presented to their visitors and immigrants, and he didn't always, because he wasn't as smart as he had once been-

_ But were you ever that smart-? _

It was alright. They tolerated him.

And then, after a few years or a few decades because he usually lost count, he wandered back home, on his feet because he didn't have the money for a chull or a horse (he used to own a hundred horses, all well-bred and well-groomed and lined up in the proper fashion, ordered by a dozen grooms that he himself had hired), struggling, stumbling, like he hadn't used to command armies. 

When he got back to Kholinar he would sit down on the Beggar's Porch near the palace and talk to himself for a while. You couldn't do that in Azir, because they had very strict laws about the treatment of the insane (he had ended up in one of those places once, took him twenty-seven years to get out). He didn't usually remember what he had talked about the next morning. He liked to forget. Horneater white and mudbeer and violet wine were all very good ways to forget. And thinking...well, it was good to not have to do that. So drinking and talking to himself in delirium it was. 

He was in Kholinar now, actually. Had been for a while, he thought. There were people who recognised him occasionally, like the tall Alethi warlord who sometimes came out and stole his bottle. He didn't mind. He'd always get another, eventually. He talked about his wife sometimes. Jezrien only vaguely remembered his wife. Maybe that was a good thing. One less thing to think about, one less thing to regret. 

When the warlord left—what was his name? Oh, yes, Kholin. The city shared his name. When he left, Jezrien would try to sleep on the steps of the porch like that would do any good, like it could cause anything to end and anything to begin anew. He did sleep, sometimes. Not as often as he probably should. He liked to convince himself that he didn't need it. Well, he did, really. It was one more thing that wasn't quite essential to a cognitive shadow, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't pass out if he went a week without rest.

Passing out was something else he did a lot of, these days.

_ And then the singers came back. And then Odium came back. And then  _ Taln  _ came back. _

_ And you watched it happen and you didn't help- _

There was nothing for a long-dead Herald to do against the full might of Odium's forces. He only vaguely remembered how to stand up straight. And so he watched, he sat there, blubbering on the steps of Kholinar as the Fused besieged the city. There were no more Heralds and no more Radiants to fight, not anymore. Odium would have Roshar for the crown jewel in his collection. They—well, Taln—had delayed it for seven thousand years, but he would have it.

_ Finally,  _ his traitorous mind whispered. Though maybe that was his true mind, only exposed after so long pretending.  _ Finally, this will end.  _

He watched Vyre, with that strange horrible knife that could take the life of a cognitive shadow, and he stepped out, into the light, and let himself meet the soldier's eyes. He watched that knife approaching his shivering, helpless self. 

_ And he welcomed it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed it! Again, this is my least favorite chapter so far, if I'm totally honest. Please leave a comment. I'm open to any and all feedback!


	2. nan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise, bitch. i didn't just manage to update on time, but i went and did it early! this chapter is from the POV of nale. I prefer this chapter to the first, but it's still probably not my best.
> 
> update schedule should be smooth sailing from here on out. i've almost finished chana, and i already have everything else up to kalak! 
> 
> hope y'all enjoy it!

**_II — nale_ **

In Azimir, the law regarding the insane said that the insane were characterised by a classic single-mindedness and and unwillingness to admit wrongdoing, guilt or remorse. It also said that the insane should be imprisoned without discrimination, for the safety of the greater populace. 

There were some parts of the law that Nale had become accustomed to ignoring. Contrary to the belief of the lesser Skybreakers, the law wasn't always the perfect guiding force. It had its blips. The type of insane that the other Heralds were—well, maybe  _ that  _ deserved its rightful punishment. Nale, however...Nale was fine. Usually. He knew that his mind hadn't survived fully intact, not after millennia of torture on Braize, but he had the perfect moral code and a set of perfectly moral actions. 

There was nothing to be ashamed of in that. 

The Fifth Ideal of the Skybreakers forced a Radiant to become the law, or at least a perfect embodiment of it. His highspren—named Vamah, because they liked their perfectly symmetrical names as much as the Alethi did—agreed that what Nale was doing was following his Oaths without wavering, without trembling before them in the way many of the initiates did. It was true, of course. No one lived as long as Nale did without becoming perfect in their codes. Vamah agreed. They were about the same age as Nale was. They were remarkably similar for it, too.

Nale didn't think about the implications of himself becoming so single-minded he was almost a spren, so characteristically predictable that he could imitate one without suspicion. That was something for the other Heralds to dwell in, in their madness.

Sometimes, though, he had to reiterate it to himself. He wasn't mad. He was just tired. He was just persistent.

He watched the Skybreakers with a growing intensity. This generation had been lacking. A few hundred years back, Nale would have gone and picked out every prospective Skybreaker for himself. He would have chosen those who never lied, those who followed their laws and those who chose to enforce them even when their knowledge and ability weren't required. Now, he got the Skybreaker masters to do it. Their selections weren't quite as perfect as his, and their highspren didn't give quite the same perfect advice as Vamah did. It wasn't quite the same force as those who had fought in the Desolations so many years ago. It would have to do. The other Radiants with their pathetic newfound orders and mad Patrons would be able or willing to fight in the same way that the Skybreakers did. And so his initiates' mediocrity would have to do.

There was one initiate, though...  _ he  _ was something truly special.

"You have done well," Nale promised the gaggling group as they finished their training. They wandered off, back to their quarters, giggling and laughing with each other. Back when he'd first refounded his Order, he'd tried to stop that festering friendship and loyalty they had to one another, but it couldn't be helped. They weren't focused enough on their Ideals, yet. Nale shook his head slightly, watching them go. Vamah floated in the air above him, a rip in reality. They exuded that same disapproving nature, though Nale couldn't tell quite how they did it. For a creature without features or bodily language, they were surprisingly good at showing their disfavour. 

One man trailed behind him. He was Shin, and would look rather indistinguishable from the rest of his people, had he not worn white. He was talking to himself. No, not to himself—to the sword. That was well. Nale wouldn't accept madness in his order.

"You have done well, assassin," Nale said, keeping his voice level and monotone. Too much praise was good for no one. It latched onto a person's mind and left them believing that they could improve no further. 

That, and the fact that it was incredibly difficult, these days, to put any semblance of emotion into his voice. But no, that wasn't a sign of insanity. It was the mark of a man perfected. 

The assassin nodded, bowing his head. "Thank you, Nin-son-God," he said. Nale didn't correct him on his name. They were all the same, really. They all showed his power. "I hope to find a position among the Skybreakers."

Nale nodded. "Among these initiates, you are the best. Perhaps one day they will swear their fealty to you instead of this generation of masters," he gestured to a group of masters on the other side of the training ground. They stood on a mound of land, raised from the rest of the Purelake, opposite the piece of land Nale and Szeth-son-son-Vallano stood on. They didn't fly; they were probably conserving Stormlight. It would take a long time to fly back to any true semblance of civilisation from here. It would be an embarrassment to the masters if they were forced to walk part of the way.

The assassin said nothing, keeping his head bowed. No emotion on that face. He was a perfect mould. Almost as perfect as Nale himself. Nale nodded to himself. "Yes, you show promise," he said. "You will find a highspren willing to bond with you soon. Go and join the others." 

The assassin nodded and disappeared, leaving a faint white shadow behind him. Nale didn't frown, but he felt a small nag of frustration. That had been a shoddy job. The assassin's cognitive aspect wasn't quite attached to his physical body. It presented a problem. He would not be able to research and perform acts of espionage when he was recognised so easily as that. 

Ah, well. There would be a solution to that. Nale had found one, despite his initial recognisability to people directly after Aharietiam. It simply required a few...adjustments. 

"He is the best you have found in centuries," Vamah said next to him. They didn't always appear, but they had been visible for most of the day today. Nale suspected that they had wanted to view the new trainees with their own eyes, or whatever the spren equivalent of eyes were. 

Nale nodded. "He will achieve the rank of master more quickly than any of the current masters have."

"It would not surprise me if he achieved the Fifth Ideal."

Nale didn't pause at that—he had rid all incriminating body language from his actions years ago. It did cause him to stop for a second though, and to think. A Skybreaker had not achieved the Fifth Ideal in a long time. It would be...interesting to see another swear it.

_ Disastrous, more like. He would threaten your grip on the order,  _ said Vamah.

Nale agreed. It was a threatening prospect. 

That didn't mean that anything could be done about the assassin. Szeth of the Skybreakers was a better idea than Szeth the Assassin in White, or Szeth-son-Honor. The best thing Nale could do was ensure the Shin man was on his side. It was a simple fundamental. If you couldn't fight him, let him join you. Anything other than that would be a strong infraction against the law.

So Nale watched, the slightest fraction of worry bothering him. Another like him could not be allowed. He was perfect, as were his morals and his actions and his Ideals. That perfection could not be replicated. Not if Nale needed to lead the Skybreakers.

Not if he wanted to negotiate with Odium.

He turned, breathed in Stormlight, and took off into the air, studying the ground beneath him, and the trainees who walked on it. Szeth was a problem to be solved another day. 

_ Because Odium wasn't back, not really. The Everstorm and the singers were isolated events. It was nothing of concern. _

Vamah disagreed with him. It didn't happen often, less now than they ever had. Nale ignored that. He was not mad. It was a simple disagreement, that was all. And Vamah refused to see reason. That was on them, not on Nale. 

_ He hadn't fallen that far, had he? _

He ignored the doubt. He had a duty to perform. He had to lead the Skybreakers.


End file.
